


TQ's Duckvember 2020

by ToonQueen



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics), DuckTales, DuckTales (Cartoon 1987), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Comedy, Dubious Content, Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToonQueen/pseuds/ToonQueen
Summary: A collection of short fics to DuckTales (comics, '87 cartoon, '17 cartoon) and Darkwing Duck for Duckvember 2020. Contains various ships as well as fancharacters.
Relationships: Faris D'Jinn/Gene the Genie (Disney: DuckTales), Gladstone Gander/Magica de Spell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Mourning (Negaverse Magica/Gladstone, past Gladstone/Poe)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [darkwingsnark's prompt list](https://darkwingsnark.tumblr.com/post/629539101533732864/yet-again-its-time-to-dust-off-our-strange). Only the fics will be posted, so that's why not every prompt will be posted here. Also, [eyemeohmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy) put most of these together, so if there's a tonal shift for later additions, that's why. (Hi, I'm eyemeohmy lol. I also do a lot of the editing/beta, so if there's errors, that's my fault... mostly. ;)

A/N: This takes place in my headcanon for Negaverse in 87/comic of what Nega Gladstone and Nega Magica are like (And by proxy Nega Poe haaaa.) BTW my Nega Gladstone is named Grimstone because he’s Hot Topic edgy like that okay. HUGS FOR THE THREE PEOPLE THAT MAY CARE ABOUT THIS SHORT STORY NNNGHHHH.

——-

Magica knew he was going to be upset when she told him the news. Of course he’d be upset. She had just underestimated how consumed by rage and vengeance Grimstone could be. 

The Grimstone Gander Magica knew was the one her brother had so enthusiastically introduced her to a year ago. Or had it been more than a year? She wasn’t sure on the exact details. 

Now it was too late to ask her brother to clarify. 

The Grimstone Magica knew was a brooding yet charming gentleman. Now an impression that did not fit the screams and smashing sounds coming from his room at random hours of the day.

Grimstone hadn’t left his bedroom in weeks. Magica placed food outside his door three times a day. When she returned for the dishes, sometimes the plates would be empty, sometimes they remained untouched.

After rejecting several meals in the past few days, Magica finally mustered up the courage to knock on his bedroom door. There was a shifting sound from inside. A growl, and a snarl; dragging noises, followed by more growling. Then, with a small click, the door unlocked–but remained closed.

Magica cautiously opened the door. Even though she’d just heard it being unlocked purposely for her, Magica crept inside, as if she were sneaking in. 

It wasn’t a hand that had unlocked the door, but a thin tendril, its topside covered in white feathers. The underside was lined with a tongue-like surface, teeth running along the edges.

Magica wasn’t frightened of the weird appendage. She’d seen Grimstone’s “skill” before: a maw that would split open from his torso, and drain energy from a deserving target. It made her a little uncomfortable, but she wasn’t scared. Magica was certain she’d never be on the receiving end of the monstrous tentacles. 

Her brother had never been put off by it. Often he would jokingly refer to it as Grim’s “starfish mode”. That would always get a small chuckle out of the stoic, tentacled duck. 

The tendril retracted back under the blanketed figure sitting on the floor. Nearly everything in the room was trashed. Furniture broken, all matters of knick-knacks destroyed. The bed was untouched though, as if he hadn’t slept in it for a while. A few framed photos and a tall mounted mirror on the walls remained intact as well.

The large window in the room was shattered, the moonlight shimmering just a little differently than normal.

Strange, Magica thought, the window didn’t look broken when she was outside the farmhouse earlier. Then again, she hadn’t left home much either. 

“I– Do you–” Grimstone’s voice was hoarser than usual. He started like he wanted to speak normally. Civilized. He stared up at Magica with darkened eyes. It looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he received the tragic news, expression desperate, heartbroken.

That expression quickly changed. Enough to make Magica step back. Even the moonlight in the room transformed from a mourning glow to a sharp brightness that matched Grimstone’s growing rage.

“Who did it!?” Grimstone demanded. Although he remained seated on the floor, his body was tense and intimidating. The feathers on his neck stood up, a snarl pulling back a corner of his beak. 

Magica took another step away, even though she silently assured herself Grim would never hurt her. “I-I told you. It was paladins. Generic white robes. Could have been anyone,” she answered, as if she were suddenly on trial. Startled and wanting to distract Grim, Magica said quickly, “You haven’t eaten all day. I was worried–”

“The same paladins that sent Poe here? The same paladins who expected me to kill and get rid of him?” Grimstone wasn’t yelling anymore, but there was something in his tone just as menacing and loud. 

Magica was frozen like a deer in headlights. Her eyes darted around the room, as if searching for an answer, anything to appease the furious duck. “I– That would be the logical conclusion, but we…” Gathering more courage, she continued calmly, “We shouldn’t attack them, do anything rash. We need to wait. You need to get better first. I made your favorite…” 

“Better? Better? This isn’t the flu. This isn’t a cold. Poe’s gone and I wasn’t there to save him!” Grimstone stood as he shouted. 

This time, Magica didn’t shrink back. She could only stare at him, tears in her glassy eyes. 

Grimstone closed his eyes a moment, taking a deep breath. He then spoke in a softer voice, mirroring a tone Poe would use. “Thank you for doing your best to help me. I’m sorry I made you worry. I know he was your brother and you must be hurting too,” he said, appearing calmer, “I’ll be down to eat in a moment. If you don’t mind. Don’t prepare anything special. I’m sure there’s plenty of leftovers for something to warm up.”

Magica knew Grimstone enough not to trust this sudden change in behavior. It was like being in the eye of a storm. Everything still and serene, the sky blue and clear, but the worst was yet to come. Nonetheless, she decided not to pry, rather consciously chose to ignore it. Magica realized if Grim did go and wipe out the paladins that wronged Poe in the past, guilty or not, she didn’t care. She left that little spark to flicker in a pile of tinder. 

Magica just nodded at Grimstone and left the room. As she descended the stairs, she heard something smash on the floor. 

A full hour went by before Grimstone finally came down stairs. He was soaking wet, like he’d been standing out in the rain. But it wasn’t raining. 

Magica sat at the kitchen table with her head resting atop her folded arms. She perked up when she heard Grim’s approaching footsteps. In a flash, Magica reheated the leftovers in the microwave.

Grim sat down silently, waited.

Magica placed the nuked food and glass of water in front of him, concerned. She noticed a few teeth from the tentacle were exposed down his collar bone near his left shoulder, the split disappearing beneath his shirt. They were spotted with blood, and when Magica looked up, Grim was staring intensely at her.

“I took out several paladins. Leaders, all of them,” Grimstone growled, a hiss rattling from his throat, “you were a part of that sect with Poe. I need you to tell me all of their locations.” Despite his unnerving voice and the accompanying unsettling noises, he wasn’t threatening her. A simple demand, really. “Their luck will run out.”

“I–It’s not that easy,” Magica stated.

Grim casually picked up his fork, rolling a bit of casserole around it. “It is easy. You disguise me as Poe and say you’re there to turn yourself in. Then we take them all out,” he said placidly, taking a bite. Magica noticed the corners of his cheeks were split farther back than normal, displaying more teeth.

Magica sat down across from him, hands folded. Saying nothing, just watching Grim.

Grimstone continued eating while he waited for an answer. 

“Why do you want me to come with you? I’m just a light mage– I can’t… ” Magica looked down at her hands. 

“Don’t you ever want to go feral? Let the last thing they know is how they hurt you? That they are getting what they deserve,” Grimstone muttered, and went back to his food, clearing it off hungrily.

Oh, that word. That phrase. What they deserve. Deserve. 

There was a long silent pause again. The only sound was Grim scraping the fork on his plate to get any last scraps of the casserole. 

In a quiet voice and after some hesitation, Magica finally responded. “All right. But you must follow my lead…”

\----

And months went by. Anyone that could be vaguely tied to Poe De Spell’s death met a grisly demise. 

The pair had just obliterated a group of monster hunters. Instead of leaving, Grim was frantically opening and slamming doors around the house the hunters were staying in.

“There has to be more of them!” he snarled. Another slam. 

Magica followed after him, finally cornering Grimstone face to face. “We got them all. There’s no one left. Let’s go,” she insisted. She touched his arm, trying to give a comforting squeeze.

Grimstone’s expression darkened. “There are always more.” He brushed off her hand and went to the next door down the hall. 

“Grim, these were just some vaguely bad hunters. They had nothing to do with Poe, really. We have to stop doing–”

Her attempts to calm Grim fell on deaf ears. Poe was more of the wordsmith, after all.

“Give me another paladin sect you know is corrupt,” Grimstone ordered as he threw another door open.

“We- we- we’ve been through them all,” Magica stammered, chasing after him.

“Every group has its rotten apples. We’ll go after them. It’s all their fault.” Grim stormed inside a room, checking behind the big, billowing window curtains.

Magica lingered in the doorway. “This has to stop. There is no one else to blame. We’ve taken out all the possible–” Grimstone was suddenly standing in front of her. She awkwardly looked away. “We can’t keep doing this…”

“There is always someone to blame. I have to get every single person that could have hurt him. Would have hurt him.” Grimstone’s fists shook at his sides, blazing eyes an irritated red. Not yet tears, but close. 

Magica took a deep breath, then took a risk. “You’re not to blame. It wasn’t your fault,” she stated, looking him directly in the eyes. She wasn’t as good at reading people as Poe, but Grim’s behavior had become obvious. All this lashing out at others when he was internally accusing himself for her brother’s death.

Grim’s face went through an array of expressions at Magica’s words. Surprise, anger, grief. He took a step back from her, shaken. “How dare you… say…”

Magica rushed up to Grimstone, wordlessly hugged him tight. She really didn’t know what else to do. She expected him to still be aggressive, wiggle away and fight. Instead, he practically crumbled in her arms. It was a weight she didn’t expect. The mage did her best to bring them both kneeling down on the floor, though rather clumsily.

One of the most powerful monster warlocks in the world was now crying and trembling in her arms.

“I’d destroy the whole world to have him back,” Grimstone choked between sobs, trying and failing to sound angry, “I will do whatever it takes…!”

“I know, I know,” Magica soothed, stroking and cradling his head. He only whimpered in response. Grimstone, overwhelmed by his own emotions, did not notice the faint glow of white light from Magica’s comforting fingers.

———

“Taking a little break from your murder spree, huh?” Negaduck chortled at Grimstone. He hadn’t seen his magical affairs related informat in person in at least a year. 

“Huh? Oh… yes. When we lost Magica’s brother, we… well. It was an interesting time, to say the least,” Grimstone replied vaguely. 

Though Negaduck rarely cared, he was a bit intrigued by the wording the warlock just used. He decided to press further. “That’s a shame. Would have loved you using some of that rage on the thorns in my side,” Negaduck said as he glanced at Grimstone’s hand. “Still going to wear the ring though, huh?”

Grimstone curiously tilted his head. “What? Magica and I may disagree on some of the actions taken after her brother’s death, but if she hadn’t been there for me, I don’t know if I would have ever recovered. Poe was one of my best friends. Losing him was–”

The warlock rubbed his head, suddenly aching. Painful chills lanced through his scalp, spikes of heat driving into his temples.

Negaduck, not put off by this, leaned in close. “I thought you were marri–”

What Negaduck would have finished with was “married to the other De Spell,” if not for the icy glare from Magica across the street. She wasn’t all dark magic and lethal weapons like other Negaversers. However, there was still an intimidating air about the light mage, a violent can of worms that Negaduck knew better not to open. Instead, Negaduck said, “Well, I better let you go then. Before your old ball and chain starts breaking mirrors with that stare.”

“Heh,“ Grimstone smirked. He knew Negaduck acted like he didn’t care, but surely there was a tiny part of him that did. "Don’t worry about it,” he added, “she’s just keeping me out of trouble. For now." 

"Hmph.” Negaduck crossed his arms. He didn’t like the warlock being manipulated by anyone else; that was his job. He raised his head, glared at Magica with narrowed eyes. However, he decided not to pry any further.

When Grimstone had finished his report, he rejoined Magica. She gave him a peck on the cheek, then both of them disappeared in the nearest reflective surface to teleport home.

—---

Thank you so much eyemeohmy for editing. Also the starfish nickname is from @schadenfredde


	2. Dreadful (Negaverse Gladstone and Elvira Duck/Coot)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I’M ON A KICK WITH MY HEADCANON FOR NEGA-GLADSTONE.
> 
> *Sees what the next prompt after this is.* Well shit. Btw Grandma Coot in this is Grandma Duck. Nega Grandma doesn’t use her married name in the Negaverse cuz FUN TIMES. 
> 
> This again is in the 87/comics universe headcanon I have. Whee.
> 
> Some casual cussing cuz Negaversers cuss okay. 
> 
> TW for abuse

“I have some business in the city. Would you like to come with me?” Elvira Coot asked her grandson. 

The young teenager was sprawled out on the couch, watching some violent cartoon nonsense on TV. He looked up at her, since the show wasn’t really holding his attention. “Which city?” Grimstone replied as he fiddled to find the off button on the remote. 

“Which city,” she snorted, as if Grimstone had cracked a bad joke, “I remember when Duckburg was farmland. St. Canard is the only real city around here.”

“Alright, I’ll go. Right now?” 

“Yes, right now.”

Grimstone got up quickly to put on his shoes and an overly large sweater his Grandma had knit him. A sweater she had done within days of taking him in. Though she was sometimes short with her grandson, and often painfully blunt, she obviously cared for him. 

Grim’s childhood was rough; from a controlling mother to being locked up in a basement for years before running away and joining a wayward group of kids. Despite his Grandmother’s harsh attitude, this was the best he had it so far. Meals three times a day, and actually appreciated when he did work around the farm. Grimstone was allowed to wander the swamps freely, spend alone time in his very own bedroom.

“Where are we going exactly?” Grimstone asked as they headed to the pickup truck parked out front.

“Picking up two more generators,” Grandma answered, climbing into the truck. Grimstone hopped in beside her.

“Don’t you have, like, four already?” Grimstone stated as he buckled his seat belt. Grandma started the truck without putting on hers. Grimstone wordlessly glared at her until she sighed and put on her own seat belt. The young teen already had several arguments with his Grandmother that she couldn’t be a doomsday prepper but not wear her seat belt for safety. There was irony somewhere in that. 

“Six,” Grandma corrected, “you can never have too many generators for when the world ends.”

Grimstone, upon first being taken in by his Grandmother, did find her doomsday survivalist side an unexpected quirk. His mother had never been like that. Sure, his mother dearest had lived “in the now’” making some selfish decisions but wasn’t so pessimistic about the future. 

And the way Grandma stocked up, like there would be hundreds staying on the farm when the time came. He found that even more strange; before he came to the farm it was just her living there alone. She’d mention the other family sometimes, his cousins. All her many grandkids. Grim often wondered why she wasn’t a part of their lives anymore. She hadn’t even been a part of his until he accidentally found the farm. And that was just pure luck. 

Ol’ Elvira Coot had purposely stopped talking about the inlaw side of the family related to the McDucks. She noticed Grimstone would tense up and get unusually quiet whenever she mentioned them. She also picked up the boy was a little claustrophobic. Grimstone definitely did not like going into some of the storage rooms in the basement. There were a few comments Grim had made here and there about staying with other relatives when his parents died. The same he clearly ran away from. 

Grandma didn’t pry since it seemed to upset him, but she was willing to listen if he ever wanted to talk. Often Elvira just wanted to tell him that if she had known her daughter died, she would have come get him, but she wasn’t sure if that’d only upset Grimstone more. One day she’d tell him everything.

Most of the drive Grimstone was silent, which was normal for him. He always liked to observe the wide expanse of the swamp around the farm, turning into dry grasslands before getting closer to St. Canard. Crossing the bridge, he finally piped up. “They fixed the frayed cables on the left side finally.”

“Yeah, I just noticed that, too,” Grandma Coot retorted. A worrisome thought crossed her mind, but she bit her tongue. “You can stay in the truck while everything gets loaded.”

“Nah, I’ll go with you. Maybe you’ll get a better deal if they know you have this adorable mouth to feed,” Grimstone said, playfully sarcastic. He gave a cheeky smile without showing any teeth. 

His Grandma noticed ages ago Grimstone never smiled with his teeth. Just like her. 

“Hmm, I wouldn’t bet on that, bucko,” Grandma replied, keeping her eyes on the road as she reached over to ruffle his hair. She remembered when he would shy away from any physical contact. However, it only took a couple weeks to get over that wall, and the little brat quickly accepted hugs and affection. 

Grim turned his gaze from the window to the elderly duck. “Hey, can we stop by that ice cream place we went to last time? After you pick up your stuff?” 

Grandma Coot chuckled. “Oh, so that was your scam all along, huh? Here I thought you just wanted to keep your precious grandma company when all you really wanted was that tabasco ice cream again, hmm?” 

Although Elvira was only feigning hurt and joking, Grimstone still felt like he had to defend himself. “What! No!” he argued. “I just thought of it now! That ice cream was some good shit but I still like spending time with you!” 

“I know, I know. How about we pick up a whole carton of it to bring home? *But*, then you have to clean out the goat stalls,” she bargained.

“Yeah, sure, okay, fine,” Grim grumbled and crossed his arms. In truth, he really didn’t mind the busy work around the farm. He wasn’t going to let her know that any time soon, though, since chores were often traded for treats. “Sometimes I wonder how you took care of that place all by yourself before I came along.”

It was a simple comment. He didn’t mean anything by it. Elvira sighed sadly, “Well, I wasn’t always alone.” After a silent pause, she added gingerly, “But now I have your bastard ass to keep me on my toes.” 

“Hey!” Grim playfully back-handed his Grandma lightly on the arm. 

“If you’re calling that a punch, we need to work on your fighting later,” Elvira smirked. 

“My shooting’s gotten really good! I hit all the cans yesterday!” the teen said defensively. 

“I know, I know. I saw,” Elvira chuckled, and smiled. 

Grimstone smiled faintly in return. Sure, she was a weird old lady sometimes, but he was glad he had at least one family member that liked him around. 

\----

It wasn’t long until they pulled into the parking lot of a warehouse near the pier. There was a large boat with a dark green tarp over its semi-exposed cargo. Grimstone recognized the familiar generators. There were two rugged looking seagulls standing outside a small building nearby.

“Stay in the truck,” Elvira ordered. Grimstone didn’t understand; why bring him if she was only going to make him wait in the truck? He grumbled lowly but did as he was told–for now. 

Grandma hopped out of the truck and headed to the building beside the dock. “Right, boys. The usual deal?” She looked up at the two much taller birds. 

“Actually, the arrangement is going to be a little different. The boss is here today and wants to change some things,” one of the seagulls explained. He directed a hand to the door of the building. 

Elvira’s eyes narrowed as she proceeded to enter. She had a feeling their “boss” was up to something. “Well, you old bastard, what do you want now?” she growled.

Scrooge sat behind a desk in the office, lazily puffing a cigar. “Me? Nothing,” he replied. “The price stays the same for you. I just need to know why you require so many of these generators. Powering a whole city up there, are you now?”

“You keep selling me crap I need to keep replacing. That’s why,” she lied somewhat. At least two previous generators she had to mod and repair herself. 

“You haven’t found anything interesting in that cesspool, have you?” Scrooge inquired, shifting and turning his chair halfway around. He looked out the window at her truck.

“Nothing you’d care about,” Elvira muttered, “and I prefer my home not be called a ‘cesspool’, thank you.” 

“Why stay on a useless swamp that barely has any fertile farmland? You’ve always been hiding something. Before we can finish this transaction I need to know what that is,” Scrooge insisted, keeping his back to her.

“There isn’t anythi–” Elvira started to raise her voice but was interrupted by one of the seagulls practically throwing a familiar fourteen year old to the floor. 

“Hey, boss, we found this kid snooping around,” one seagull explained.

“I wasn’t snooping around! I was literally standing at the rail of the dock looking out at the water, you idiot! I–” As soon as Grimstone started to get to his feet, he noticed the duck sitting behind the desk and froze. 

Elvira momentarily took his sudden silence as him worried she was mad. “Grim! I told you to stay in the truck,” she said, walking over to her grandson. She stopped then, and realized the kid wasn’t upset. Something far worse. He looked panicked, terrified, frightened. 

At the sound of Grim’s voice, Scrooge spun his chair back around, facing forward. His surprised look melted into an oily, insidious smirk.

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky charm. Wondered where you went off to. Been a while, hasn’t it?” Scrooge stood from his chair, cane in hand, and stalked around the desk.

Grandma Coot didn’t need to know the history between these two. Grimstone had a run-in with Scrooge at some point between his parents passing and joining the gang of kids, and it obviously had left the most painful scars. She quickly stepped in between the two, snapped, “I don’t think so. We’re leaving. Keep your generators.”

Grimstone, still stunned, went to join his Grandma. Before he could move, one of the guards grabbed Elvira from behind. She fought, fists flailing, before her arms were pinned down to her sides.

Grimstone backed up against the opposite wall. 

“You’ll be leaving without the lad,” Scrooge explained. “Trust me, once you know what he is you wouldn’t want to take him with you.”

“Don’t you lay a finger on him!” Elvira growled and snarled. Though her arms were trapped, she furiously kicked back at the seagull holding her. 

Scrooge could only chuckle as he approached the cowering boy. “It seems I made quite an impression on you.”

“I’ll go with you. Just please don’t tell her,” Grimstone muttered.

“Oh no, sonny. She needs to know what you are or else she’ll try to come get you. Like she used to try with all the other brats,” Scrooge taunted. He pressed his cane handle under Grimstone’s chin, just getting a whimper from the boy. He drew back the cane, bringing it down on Grimstone’s head. 

Grimstone tumbled to the floor. He scrambled to get up, on hands and knees when Scrooge hooked his cane around his neck and violently yanked. The boy took a sharp breath like he had been drowning for those brief seconds. “Open up, and then I’ll let her go. Hm?”

At first the young duck didn’t do anything. His head was swimming. His mind jumped to the night Scrooge had exposed his secret to the rest of the family. To Matilda, the woman who’d taken him in, to all the cousins near his age. He lost everything after that, and he was going to lose it all over again.

Grim was brought back to reality when Scrooge pulled on his neck with the cane. He saw his Grandma fighting furiously to get out of the guard’s arms. He couldn’t let her get hurt, even if it meant losing the last family member he had on his side. 

With a strained sob, Grimstone’s beak split down his cheeks. Past the orange and into the feathers, and down his neck appeared a row of teeth, opening like a second mouth. This was only a small glimpse of the truth, but he didn’t want to ruin the sweater his Grandma had so lovingly made him.

Though his torso rumbled, shifted, he made sure the extra toothy mouth opened wide on his bill and neck. He was sure Scrooge wouldn’t ask him to show more. 

“See, looks like Daphne had a little monster. So, how about my employees load you up with two generators–no charge this time. Can’t say I’m not gener–” When Scrooge looked up from Grim to his Grandmother, he was in for another surprise. 

Elvira had the same wide row of fangs split open past her cheeks. Not only that, but feathered tendril-like limbs were coming out each sleeve of her blouse alongside her arms. The fleshy vines grabbed around the seagull’s arms. With a squeeze and a bend, the guard had to let go. Scrooge’s cane was still hooked on Grimstone’s neck when the old mallard tugged on it again. The teen, while still consumed with emotional dread, was elated by what he saw. 

His Grandma was like him? Why didn’t he realize that was a possibility before? His mother had been like this too. Not until this moment had he finally put two and two together. 

“Oh, I see. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Scrooge’s voice seemed calm, “then, let’s make another arrangement. How about–”

There wasn’t any negotiating, as Elvira’s tendrils wrapped around the stunned guard that was loosely holding her. She was able to lift his body with the monstrous limbs and toss the seagull right at Scrooge. Both crashed through the window and into the water outside. 

Grimstone would have been dragged with Scrooge too, but spare tendrils held him tight, plucking off the cane.

Grandma Coot then grabbed Grim’s upper arm with her hand. She quickly made him run with her to the truck. One of her tendril’s was putting the key in the ignition and turning it while her hands checked the wound on Grimstone’s head. He had curled up on himself in the passenger seat, still not knowing what to make of the situation. By reflex, Grimstone stiffened and his exposed openings of teeth closed up. 

Elvira gave him a soft smile before taking the wheel, tendrils retracting back up into her sleeves.

“I had thought Donald would inherit the curse. But of course it would be you. Looks like I have a lot more to teach you than just shooting,” she said, as if this was the only way she could comfort him. Accepting him. She hit the gas and drove off like a bat out of Hell.

Grimstone had so many questions now. Questions he was sure he’d get answers to later. That she was like him. He uncurled and got comfortable, easing back and relaxing, as if nothing was wrong. He wasn’t exposed as a monster, because she was one too. In that moment, strangely enough, it meant they were still family.

“So, uh… Can we still stop for that ice cream?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to eyemeohmy for beta ahhhh.
> 
> This came up with the prompt cuz I could picture my Nega Grandma duck saying ‘Dreadful’ to Scrooge with the same energy as that Kim Kardashian tragic gif. loool.


	3. Game (Fancharacters)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some OC stuff. Move along. Nothing to read here. NO BETA and NO WRITING GOOD DESCS JUST GOING WHERE THIS ENERGY DRINK IS TAKING ME.
> 
> PG-13 for the violence. Murder mentions. I’m sure there is a curse word. Fun on a bun stuff.
> 
> P.S. IT WAS BETAed THANK YOU eyemeohmy ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE ONE PART I WAS STUCK AT nnnngh

“Now that I’ve got your attention, let’s play a little game,” the canine antagonist’s voice drifted from the speakers, followed by loud, maniacal cackling. There was no sight of him, but the room wasn’t empty.

Faustina curtly stood up from the ground where she had fallen deep into the pit. She was less concerned about the menacing, dangerous voice as she was her clothes getting dirty. Although she was angry, it was more at her sister than this weirdo who’d trapped them here.

“‘Mr. Canis is so nice in the Nega-verse. I just wanted to see if his gas station was anything like the one in the Middle-verse. Your version, he’s such a kind old man, so… what if he’s an absolute grump here? How funny would that be… teehee.’” Faustina repeated words said to her earlier in a mocking tone. She looked around the room as she brushed off her skirt; a small cell with a single glass wall. “Yes, what a great adventure, /sis/,” Faustina growled, pounding on the glass angrily, “find out our good friend /here/ is a serial killer. /Fun times/.”

Faustina glanced up, spotting a TV screen mounted above the glass. Playing was footage of her sister, Felicity, hurrying down a hallway, surrounded by large, halved circular saw blades whirring in and out and along the walls. Faustina’s dark-haired twin was swiftly moving, twisting, dancing around them.

“/I am not a killer/!” the voice shrieked from the speakers, offended, disgusted, “I am merely a tool that creates the puzzles. It is Fate that decides who lives and who dies, not me.”

“Oh, /boy/. This is going to be a /hoot/ then. Fate. With this gal. /Wow/. Why not run me through your death maze too?” Faustina stifled her giggling.

“Because you are going to be the prize for when–or if–she gets through my CORRIDOR OF KARMA and the PRECIPICE OF SERENDIPITY,” the villain bellowed, causing the speakers to glitch a little.

Faustina had completely lost it, cackling until her stomach hurt and she doubled forward, banging a fist against the glass wall. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, her face sore from smiling so much. “Oh, you sad, poor little–if you /only knew/ her! Oh, man, where’s my phone?” She managed to collect herself, wiping away tears and sniffing a few times. A moment to gigglesnort before deep breath. “I’m going to have to record your reaction for later, Mister I Let Fate Decide, but I’m sure as soon as she gets through your stupid game, you’ll change your tune. I bet you made it so everyone loses no matter how hard they try, right? You’re gonna be so butthurt when you realize she’s gonna get through all that.” Unable to restrain herself any longer, Faustina started laughing and snorting again, arms thrown around her belly.

“Laugh now, fool. I hope you see her get torn apart. Behold! She just now entered the GAUNTLET OF THE GILDED– wait, where did she go?” the canine gasped and choked.

Faustina looked back up at the TV as it started flipping through channels, all showing different chambers and mazes of torture and misery. Every single one of them… empty. Just as another channel turned on, Faustina heard a light shuffling coming from the ceiling above her head.

A second later, a panel on the ceiling right outside the cell room fell to the ground. Felicity climbed out until she was standing, face to face, with her sister on the opposite side of the glass.

Faustina huffed, hands on her hips. “About time. That took you a little longer than I thought,” Faustina complained to her “hero”.

“I would have gotten here sooner, but I felt obligated to read the name plaques he put up in each room. Masquerade of Misfortune was my favorite,” Felicity replied as she placed her hands on where the glass wall met a metal wall.

“How– /How did you get in here!/ The vents don’t–don’t even lead here!” the voice hissed and snarled from the speakers.

“Well, they do now,” Faustina said on behalf of her sister. Felicity ignored them, tugging and prying along the strip of metal before peeling it loose. A line of bolts popped free.

“No matter! That was cheating! You’ve forfeited the game, and now you will see your sister suffer a gruesome fate,” the voice guffawed sinisterly. Liquid started pouring from the cell’s ceiling, right next to Faustina.

The trapped twin sniffed, and instantly knew what it was. “Gasoline? Really? Gonna set me on fire, huh? This is just getting more and more hilarious. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea. We need to do this every week. Man, if this jerk only /knew/,” she chuckled, casually pressing a hand up against the nozzle and stopping the flow of gasoline.

“Now, Felicity, was it? How ironic your name means 'fortune.' Maybe you’ll be lucky by persuading me to let your sister live. Get on your knees, and /beg/ for her life,” their captor ordered, his tone much more disturbing and ruthless.

Felicity gave him the cold shoulder. “Heat would expand the glass, and then you can crawl out through this seam,” she explained to Faustina. “The bolts are out. You’ll be fine.”

“Are you not listening to me?” the voice raged. “You need to convince me to free your sister! I decide her fate!”

“Cool, cool, all right, hellfire. Got it.” Faustina put her fingers in front of her and started to move them like she was playing with an invisible cat’s cradle string. 

“Do you not /understand/, you simpletons? All I have to do is throw a lit match and your sist– /What in the fuc–/!” the voice changed from commanding to panicked when Faustina herself burst into flames. The fire had started from her own hands, and spread across her body. Flames rolled down her skirt, thick and magma-like, setting the fuel at her feet on fire. There was an immediate rushing blow of black smoke.

Felicity backed away from the hole so Faustina and her fire could do the rest. The escaping duck showed no pain from the flames. She just shrugged and climbed out. The speakers crackled but no voice.

“/Coward/!” Faustina yelled as she got out of the cell, rolling back the glass with the heat. “Why didn’t I think of this?”

“We are underneath a gas station. Might want to tone down the fire,” Felicity suggested. She looked up at where the fuel was still dripping. A few options on what to do rolled around in her mind. “Why is this bothering me more than any other villain we fought?”

“I dunno. More the peeps we beat up tend to rob banks or fight other heroes, so, uh,” Faustina said, the flames disappearing in wisps of black smoke until not even a spark was left. The entire cell floor was covered in flames still. Despite having been set on fire, not a single part of Faustina’s body, even her clothes, had been burned or harmed. However, there was black smudging along the hem of her skirt. “… You’re gonna get my dry cleaning bill.”

“Yeah, we’ve never had to fight a killer that’s been taking out… defenseless people,” Felicity mumbled, still watching the dripping gasoline. 

Faustina noticed the change in her sister’s tone. “Look, I can be a reverse conscience, bein’ all for tearing this guy apart. Is that what you want to do?” Faustina leaned in close to her twin, twinkle-eyed. “Really, I’d like to have that family bonding girls’ night /finally/.” 

“No…” Felicity replied quietly. Another moment’s pause, then she asked, “Can you resurrect the bodies in the freezer?”

“Yes,” Faustina said without hesitation. 

Felicity opened the nearest door, finding it to be a closet with the usual cleaning supplies. She handed Faustina a push broom. Not exactly what she hoped for but it would work. 

“I’ll go after him. You get the victims out of here,” Felicity said as she pointed to the hole in the ceiling that Faustina had originally fallen from.

The blonde witch gave a nod and got on the broom, flying out the available exit. Felicity took a ladder from the closet, used it to climb up into a different opening.

——-

Mr. Canis, a mild-mannered gas station owner with a shotgun in hand, was now running out of his business as fast as his legs could carry him.

Well, not that mild mannered, since he would often trap a lone 3 AM traveler or two, and force them to play his sadistic death games he held below the gas station. “A sacrifice to Fate during the bewitching hour” is what he called it. And two tired women on a road trip were just the perfect meals to feed the beast.

Metaphorical beasts. Not monsters like these two were. 

Mr. Canis had made a mistake. He had seen the warning signs! …Though, could the blonde filling the super size one liter soda cup with nothing but nacho cheese really count as a warning sign? After all, she did put a fifty dollar bill on the counter and said to charge her as much as he needed for extra cheese. This weird girl who he’d now just seen catch on fire and come out completely unscathed without any show or sign of pain.

Mr. Canis wasn’t going to stick around to see what the witch’s equally oddball sister could do. 

To think an hour ago his biggest concern was she might be a cop. The way she had just… inspected things on the shelves so tentatively. Actually stood there at the counter for a moment, reading the back of a bag of chips. And then, when he was ringing her up, she just smiled at him like she knew him. Asked how his day was with a strangely large amount of curiosity. 

Mr. Canis assumed the woman must know him–better yet, know what he did. Knew about the puzzles, the games. Knew about the sacrifices he had made to Fate. He could see it in her eyes.

There was a rattling of metal coming from right behind him. He ran across the small parking lot, toward the grass of the surrounding woods. He heard the rattle again. Like a horror movie, he just had to check, see the source of the sound–

The canine’s feet were back on the pavement. The rattling came from the steel door to the room containing all the fuel tanks. There was faint knocking from within–specifically one tank with a small “door” locked up. Mr. Canis laughed despite his fear; one of these so-called “powerful” women were now trapped by a simple metal lock on a rusty old door.

He stopped laughing when the lock broke after another couple knocks. Seemingly with no force either. With one more push, Felicity climbed out of the tank, drenched. Instead of the strong scent of gasoline, she was soaked in cola. 

Mr. Canis was all the more confused when harmless brown soda could be seen (and smelled) in the fuel tank, instead of the gasoline that would be more harmful for this girl to swim in. He was frozen, flabbergasted. How could the hoses for the syrup to the soda fountains even be out here? They must have been diluting the fuel he was using for the traps.

When Mr. Canis snapped out of his daze, he found the black-haired duck glaring back at him in silence. If looks could kill, he’d be dead and buried.

Felicity had been excited to meet the Prime-verse counterpart of the Nega-verse gas station owner she was friends with. She had expected a grumpy version of the man that ran her favorite Nega-verse stop. Maybe throw out loitering teens instead of offering them free day-old donuts. It was going to be amusing. Be fun.

Not deadly.

Mr. Canis fired a shot at her, and it missed. Missed even at point blank. Sure, she had tilted her torso just slightly left, but it should have still hit something! Mr. Canis wasn’t an amateur when it came to firearms. 

Felicity abruptly grabbed the gun. One hand around the top of the barrel, and the other farther down the shaft. Mr. Canis’ finger was still curled around the trigger, and he fired another shot. In an instant, she bent and raised the barrel so the shot went into the air.

Felicity gained leverage and let one hand go of the gun. Her free one grabbed under the canine’s arm. Mr. Canis was on his back in a flash when the smaller duck flipped him onto the ground.

Felicity held the gun now, aimed expertly at her would-be attacker. “Get up. Get inside the gas station.” 

“Look, this is all a misunderstanding. Obviously you have the blessed fortune to get through my maze of fate. You and your sister are free to go! Isn’t that wonderful? Go ahead and be on your way!” Mr. Canis was desperate; poor excuses, he knew, but he tried. Maybe the girl would be so in shock by what happened she would just leave? 

Felicity was silent, and still glaring. In that moment, Mr. Canis wished she was more talkative like the blonde. He reluctantly got up, and headed into the gas station. Felicity followed, keeping the gun pointed at his back. 

“I take it you two are going to tie me up and call the cops to come get me?” he chuckled, like he’d forgotten all about the insanity of the last ten or so minutes.

That peace did not last long. Faustina was sitting on the checkout counter. Three other women were in the station as well. Very familiar women. Awake, moving, but still cold from the freezer. Glassy eyed, they actually did not look fully alive. Just alive enough. 

“Are there more? Because those woods back there look very iffy,” Faustina questioned, as casually as someone would when looking for their lost keys. She sat in her billowy dress, legs crossed and hands resting on one bent knee. She smirked wide when the murderer was too shocked to reply. “What? Nothing to say? What would you like to do, dearest sister?”

“We let him choose his fate,” Felicity finally spoke up. There was a glimmer in Faustina’s eye. She had never seen Felicity prone to actual violence. This was a treat. Though, she gave a disheartened pout when her sister just had to ruin it with all the lawful goody-two-shoes stuff. “We’re calling the cops, and you better sit still and stay here while we all wait for them to arrive.”

“Those three… How are they… what is… going on?” the panic returned to Mr. Canis’s voice. The same panic when he watched Faustina burst into flames as if it were nothing but a change of clothes. 

“Idiot. You have the worst luck ever. You literally, /literally/ put someone cursed by Fortuna in your fate maze, and someone blessed by demons in your fire trap. How dumb. What a /moron/. /Absolute tool!/” Faustina complained and scowled.

“I’m sure your mood’ll improve soon enough,” Felicity said, eyes rolling. She waved a hand and turned away. “I’m stepping out to call the cops. I’ve got the gun on me, but I’m sure you can handle him if he tries anything funny.”

Faustina grinned, watching her sister leave. “No problemo!” She turned her grin, now more feral, to Mr. Canis as she cracked her knuckles. “So, hey, a couple of your ‘former customers’ wanna file some complaints about your little side business here. I recommend you take them very seriously.”

Mr. Canis whimpered, looking between Faustina and the three women lumbering closer. “Are you… are you going to kill me?” he gulped.

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to leave it to fate. Ladies, if you get rid of him before sunrise, the spell will resurrect you. The more pain you put him through, the better the rezz,” Faustina said and grinned before turning to leave the room. She shut the door on the horrified, high-pitched shrieking and crying.

Felicity stood outside, arms crossed, like she had just caught a child eating all the cookies from the jar. 

“What? You prefer I don’t rezz them?”

“I’m pretty sure you can just transfer his life force into them without the–” Felicity’s words were interrupted by a blood curdling scream. 

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that? Karma’s a bitch, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lawd the baddies in the Saw movies piss me off would love monster girls to beat the shit out of them. HUZZAH.


	4. Dessert (Faris D'jinn/Gene the Genie (Gene C. Baba)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lawd. I finally wrote something short.

“Ooooh! How about this one to split?” Gene turned the dessert menu to face D’jinn. There were several types of desserts listed. The duck pointed to a picture of a slice of cake that had numerous, multi-colored layers of chocolate with white meringue on top.

D’jinn nodded. “Whatever you prefer.”

Gene went back to making deep, thoughtful ‘hmming’ noises as he looked through the dessert menu again. There were cakes, puddings, and all kinds of pies. “Well, what do you want? You always have me pick!” he asked.

“I don’t really have a preference when it comes to sweets. I’ll enjoy whatever you decide on,” the canine replied before taking a sip of his tea.

Gene made a face; he refused to accept that answer. He put the menu on the table and pushed it towards D’jinn. “You piiiiick!” the former genie commanded.

D’jinn chuckled softly, and shook his head a little. “My love, I really do not have any preference,” he stated with a light smile, “do not worry yourself about it.”

Gene’s eyes narrowed like an interrogating cop on a late night crime show. He leaned across the diner table to get closer to D’jinn. Despite his demanding tone, his feathered tail gave an excited little wiggle. “What is your favorite sweet then? Chocolate? Something cinnamon? Peppermint? Chocolate with peanut butter?” he exclaimed.

“Gene, it really does not matter to me. I’m the second oldest of nine siblings. I’ve never had a dessert preference. Growing up, I’ve always gone with what my siblings wanted. Really, do not worry about it,” D’jinn explained.

“Likely story!” Gene was still half-jokingly doing his interrogating cop impression. “If you were one of the eldest, doesn’t that mean you could boss them around and get whatever you wanted?”

“Not when they gang up on you. Like unionized piranhas,” the canine replied, smirking sweetly, as if he had recalled a fond memory of his siblings when they were all younger. He sipped his tea, said, “And Gene, I really don’t eat sweets on my own. But I always love to share one with you.”

“Hmmm, okay. I’ll accept that answer. For now,” Gene replied. He quickly pecked D’jinn on the nose before leaning back and sitting down. His partner smiled gently. Gene gave another moment’s thought before suggesting, “How about pie? But you have to pick the type of pie!”

“How about… the loganberry. That looks good,” D’jinn replied, glancing at the picture.

“Yes! With a big scoop of ice cream on top! *Ale la mode*!”


	5. Legendary (Magica, Gladstone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is taking place in my 87/Comic headcanon universe for Magicstone. Whee. So uh I wrote this fast so may not be as in character as I like to write them because I was trying to make it short. Weh.

“I don’t even know why I brought you along! Some help you are!” Magica hissed like a trapped animal. Her and her adventuring partner were actually trapped, in what looked to be just a plain dirt pit. It was a very simple snare, built to capture those snooping in the woods.

Magica sat on the ground with her arms crossed, wand still in hand. She had tried several spells to escape but to no avail.

Gladstone, also in the same pit, acted like he didn’t have a care in the world. He sat on a rock that was the perfect shape of a little seat. “Oh, c’mon, I’ve seen you deal with worse. Try again!”

Magica muttered under her breath. Despite her complaining, she stood up and dusted herself off. The witch waved her wand at the top of the hole. A small blast hit the edge but was absorbed in its magic field.

The witch narrowed her eyes as she studied how the forcefield over the pit reacted. “It’s not a magic field. It’s energy. Like a machine! That’s why my counter spell isn’t working!” she declared.

“See! I knew you would figure it out. You always do!” Gladstone cheered, remaining seated on the rock.

“No, I haven’t figured it out, because we still have to turn the forcefield off,” Magica huffed before feeling the side of the dirt wall. She looked over at Gladstone, unimpressed. The lazy lucky duck probably wouldn’t lift a finger to help her. It was work, after all. Even though he was trapped here too! She muttered to herself again, storing her wand in her sleeve.

Magica kicked off her heeled shoes before starting a climb up to the top.

The *clunk clunk* of her shoes hitting the ground caught Gladstone’s attention. It wasn’t something he expected. “Can’t you just… use magic to levitate out of here?” he questioned as he stood from his seat.

“Magic is not–” she gave a little grunt as she lifted her body up the wall a foot, “–as simple as your luck.” She took another step and wobbled. The witch would have gained her balance on her own, but Gladstone didn’t give her the chance. In a split second, he was behind Magica, supporting her with hands to her back.

“Sorry– It looked like you were going to fall,” the normally confident half-goose stuttered a little.

“Heh, I would have been fine. I’m used to doing things like this on my own,” Magica replied.

Gladstone felt slightly guilty. “Hmmm, here.” He used his shoulder to boost her up to the edge of the hole. “There.”

Magica was a little surprised by the sudden lift, but quickly used it to her advantage. From the rim of the pit, she saw a bit of metal peeking out from a pile of leaves. She brushed it off, exposing more metal. There was an entire ring of it surrounding the top of the hole.

“You know, for being so lucky, you shouldn’t have fallen in this hole in the first place,” Magica snorted.

“Ah, it doesn’t always work like that. Maybe it wanted me down here to help you,” he casually replied, “I don’t sweat the details much.”

Magica dug her fingers around the hole some more. Gladstone grunted when she shifted on his shoulders. With a little more digging, the witch found a button on the metal ring. She hit it, and what followed was a stereotypical powering down noise. “Ah ha!”

In a flash, she pulled herself out of the pit. From Gladstone’s point of view it looked like she suddenly disappeared. A few seconds later, a vine was thrown down over the edge.

“This looks sturdy enough to climb,” Magica said.

“Ugh. Climb?” Gladstone couldn’t believe he actually had to put in some effort, but sighed and started the climb up. Once he was close enough to the top, Magica offered her hands to pull him out the rest of the way. Gladstone took them, standing beside the witch and brushing off his coat.

Magica pointed to another trap nearby. “Look,” she said. The second trap, only a few feet from the pit, had already been activated and exposed. Instead of falling into a deep hole, they would have been hit by a swinging pendulum now impaled in a tree.

“What can I say?” Gladstone smirked cheekily. “My luck is legendary.”


	6. Goose (Gladstone/Magica)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is taking place in my 87/Comic headcanon universe for Magicstone. Again. YOU CANNOT STOP ME.
> 
> Just some headcanons for the Gander side of the family. Wheeeee.

“I told you this would be fun,” Gladstone said as he handed Magica a drink. He smiled and took a sip from his glass.

“Depends on what your definition of ‘fun’ is,” Magica replied, taking a swallow. The two hanging out by the drink table at the party felt a little familiar to the witch. Like being awkward outsiders at a high school prom.

“My aunt was really impressed with you! Or maybe she was my grand-cousin?” Gladstone counted fingers on his free hand silently. “My father’s mother’s aunt’s daughter? What would that be?”

“I believe an aunt, since she’s a few generations older than you. At least, that’s how it works in my extended family,” Magica replied as she looked over a few groups chatting with one another. “All we did was talk about growing our own spices. Half Foods Market is such a rip off.”

“It’s nice being around people that don’t know /know/ you,“ Gladstone added. 

Magica knew Gladstone didn’t mean for that to sound offensive. Though, it still upset her. True, she wasn’t known as a criminal witch here. Gladstone’s father’s side of the family was a distance from Duckburg, and not well knowledgeable on the goings-on there. Yes, it was nice to be at a party where she could openly be Gladstone’s date. With normal folks, too, no one in the magic community. Magica was guilty of dragging Gladstone to a few of those, so she bit her tongue about his comment. However, her sudden silence already said enough for Gladstone to pick up something was off.

“I mean, for both of us. They aren’t bugging me about my luck either. Since, they don’t know,” Gladstone explained, turning the half-full glass in his hands. “Neither of us have bad reputations here. And I get to see family I haven’t seen since I was a toddler.”

“I know what you meant,” Magica replied. She knocked back the glass, finishing her drink in one swallow. Gladstone’s comment stung nonetheless. A reminder that they couldn’t have a real relationship. She still had to get Scrooge’s dime, despite having feelings for the old duck’s nephew. Feelings Gladstone might recepticate, or at least like having someone else around for various activities and adventures. 

For someone blessed with luck, Gladstone sure was a lonely guy. 

“Let’s have another dance! They’re playing something less boring again,” Gladstone offered a distraction. Maybe he had been mulling over the same relationship doubts too. Though his way of dealing with problems was to change the subject. He took her empty glass from her and placed both of theirs on the nearby table.

Magica smiled lightly, maybe a bit sadly. “All right.”

They started dancing quietly. The two had danced at enough events to understand and memorize each other’s moves. After a short while, Magica rested the side of her head on Gladstone’s chest.

“Thank you for coming with me. I felt weird coming alone,” the half-goose admitted softly, “bringing my sort-of-girlfriend to an already awkward situation cancels that out, right?”

Magica gave a soft chuckle. Gladstone was glad his small joke amused her. “Well, I understand what it’s like having a family you don’t ever see. Not really having bad blood with them, but you know. Drifting apart.”

“I’m not sure why my father didn’t take me to see them. Why he had a falling out. I guess he was from a higher social class, and mom was a farm girl. Maybe they looked down on him for that?” Gladstone contemplated out loud. Quietly, as another couple danced by.

“They’ve been nothing but cordial to you tonight,” Magica stated, lifting her head up from Gladstone’s chest. 

“Ah, well. While I have enjoyed talking to my extended family, ah…” Gladstone smirked, “I am wearing a six thousand dollar suit I won right after I accepted the invitation for this reunion.” 

Magica rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“And luckily it matched the dark green of your dress. It’s quite lovely. I’ve never seen you wear that one before.” 

“It’s my mother’s,” Magica replied softly, then rested her beak on top of Gladstone’s shoulder. 

They danced slowly for what felt like forever. Magica knew so much about the half-goose’s family from past late night talks. It was at that moment Gladstone realized he knew hardly anything about hers. He made a note to listen more; he knew he could be bad at that. Gladstone had dragged Magica to a strange family party, so it would be the least he could do in the future. 

“Well, even if they might be snobby, it would be nice to have a family to spend time with every once in a while. They seem like the type to have outdoor picnics in spring. Wouldn’t that be fun for the both of us to attend? Just–whatever gatherings they might have. Once in a while,” offered Gladstone. 

Magica was endeared by Gladstone’s words. He had found this new thing that might make him happy, and he was excited to share it with her. What he said next sounded simply, but was loaded with multiple implications: “We could get a house out here.” 

“But my career comes first, darling,” Magica replied. It was tongue in cheek, a vague hint she still needed to steal his uncle’s dime for the Midus spell. However, it was a little sad as well. If only things had been different. If only they’d met a good decade earlier. 

Gladstone didn’t say anything, but where his hand rested on her side gave a quick light squeeze. There was a pause, and another deflection. “But we’ll still go on a few family activities with the Gander side of my family, hm?” he said in his usual optimistic tone.

“Of course,” Magica said as she pulled back. She gave Gladstone a peck on the cheek. “I need to powder my beak. I’ll be right back.”

Gladstone nodded as they headed to the edge of the ballroom floor. The half-goose instantly struck up a conversation with one of his uncles there.

Magica approached an elderly goose sitting at a table. She recognized her as one of the matriarchs of the family. “Excuse me, but where is the bathroom?” she asked.

“Through the study, to the left,” the old goose answered. 

Magica nodded gratefully and left.

Magica was only gone a couple seconds. She had a brief look of panic on her face as she scanned the party for Gladstone. He was a few tables over from where she had left him, talking to an older aunt and the same uncle. 

“Ah, yes, we met your mother when you were nothing but a babe,” the aunt said, smiling. She had the same slender goose bill as Gladstone’s father did. “She was always willing to help in the kitchen. Your grandfather, rest his soul, always told her they had servants for that. Oh, and she was always going on about her good luck.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard many a-story about sweet Daphne. I’m sure living a simple country life and meeting the goose of her dreams would make any gal feel like she’s always lucky,” Magica interjected as she stood beside Gladstone. Her beak looked a few shades paler than usual. Gladstone would have made a comment about “over-powdering her bill” but he instantly picked up something wasn’t right.

Magica took hold of his hand, fingers interlacing between his. They’d held hands at least a dozen times before; cupped around each other, but not like this. 

Magica gave his hand a squeeze, followed by an uneasy smile. Normally, he would find her nervous smile sweet or cute, but Magica’s tense body language and energy set off alarms in his head. 

Something was *very* wrong.

Gladstone said abruptly, “You know, it is getting late. We should really head out, darling.”

The aunt and uncle looked confused. The uncle then smiled and said, “Well, Gladstone, we do hope to see you around. Please, don’t be a stranger.” 

Magica pulled Gladstone to the exit. She whispered from the corner of her beak, “I’ll tell you in the car. Right now we must leave.”

If this had just been a normal party, not with the estranged side of his family, Gladstone would have left with her right then and there. He believed something had upset her, but since this involved family, he needed to know. Gladstone would’ve trusted her to tell him what she saw; he really would have believed her no matter what. He was just drawn to see whatever it was for himself. 

Gladstone brought Magica’s hand up to his bill and gave it a light kiss. With everything else going on, this seemed to surprise her as well. It was easy to figure out whatever upset her happened on the way to the restroom. He spoke loud enough for the relatives nearby to hear, “Go warm up the car. I’m going to use the restroom real quick. It was a really long drive out here.”

Gladstone handed her the keys to his car. Though he was often a selfish half-goose, he wasn’t going to make her stay in a place that made her uncomfortable. At first Magica gave him a baffled look, one brow cocked. She opened her bill slightly, about to talk him out of it– The witch then looked away from his gaze before turning to head out. 

Perhaps it was best Gladstone saw for himself.

With that, Gladstone went to find the restroom. Passing a hallway, and then into the study. At the end of the room was the slightly ajar door to the restroom. 

The study itself was more like a large living room. Two dark brown leather sofa chairs were in front of the fireplace. Hanging above the fireplace was an old shield, and two long spear-like weapons crossed behind it. The shield had a set of red wings, with a heavily patterned circle in the center. Something about the emblem and symbol felt familiar. 

Gladstone recalled something Magica had said in passing during an adventure. They were looking through an old book she’d found. Inside that book was the very symbol on this shield. Gladstone remembered Magica, frustrated, saying, “There are many bad things I can say about the McDuck clan, but at least they weren’t hunters.” 

Maybe he was a better listener than he thought. 

The shield symbol had been in that book she held then. He glanced over a few paintings in the room. One looked like a regular medieval scene; people at a feast in fancy dresses with baskets of fruit and baked ham on decorated picnic tables. On the horizon of the picture, however, was a fire. 

With a small silhouette of a person tied to a stake in aforementioned fire. 

Oh, so just your average witch burning party, then. 

Gladstone sighed to himself. That explained everything. On one side of his family, Magica was the villain, and now the other side turned out to be descendents of witch hunters. Just great. As if he and Magica having a normal relationship wasn’t strained enough. 

Gladstone had a sudden urge to look behind him. Like that feeling when you know a fly is in a room that needs a good swatting. He glanced up; bordering around the edge of the wall right before the ceiling was a line of hooks. And on those hooks were various hats, ranging from Victorian era, ladies Sunday hats, to top hats with an unusual garnish of flowers on the side. Some were stereotypical witch hats: bent points, different colored patches. Anyone might have thought they were keepsakes, antiques; heirlooms passed down the generations. Gladstone, knowing what he knew of the magic world through Magica, saw them differently.

Trophies from past hunts. 

The snooping half-goose noticed a wall of family portraits throughout the years. He looked over them until he found one of his parents. He assumed it was painted from when they first married. It dawned on Gladstone that Magica’s strange behavior wasn’t just this shocking revelation, but that she was worried about him, too. 

Four times tonight family members asked him about his mother’s luck. What if the witch hunters weren’t just ancestors? What if these relatives were active hunters themselves? There were more empty hooks in another corner of the room, which could mean… What a terrible thought. 

“Oh! Admiring all the family portraits, I see!” a different aunt spoke from the doorway. It was the one Magica discussed spices with earlier that evening. Gladstone would have jumped out of his skin if his immensely high charisma didn’t help in the most stressful of situations. 

“Yes, yes. It’s so weird to see my parents so young. I have so many photos of them from when I was five and six-ish? That’s when all my cousins and their parents insisted we hang out with each other. Have playdates.” He knew he was over-explaining things, but hopefully it was a good enough distraction.

“Ah, cousins on your mother’s side,” the aunt deduced. She smiled coyly. “Maybe you and Helen will be on this wall someday, hm?”

“Huh?” Gladstone was already in such a tense situation that he’d forgotten Magica had used a different name when introducing herself. Now he was grateful she did. Couldn’t exactly come into a household of hunters (presumably) with a name like Magica. “Oh, yes… well… that’s a more complicated situation.”

“Someone on the other side of the family does not like her?” the nosy aunt pried.

“In a way,” Gladstone said, as he moved towards the door. He eyed a window for a possible emergency escape.

“Well, we found her company most delightful. We would hate to lose more relatives due to a misunderstanding.”

“Ah– Yes, well–” Gladstone truly didn’t know how to reply to that.

“You know, the falling out our family had with your father wasn’t because of your mother. It was your grandmother. Elvira, was it? She took a shine to your father but gave the rest of us quite the cold shoulder since the wedding. The last time we saw him you were just a baby, so you wouldn’t remember the details. What most of us assumed is Elvira told Goostave it was either her daughter, or his family. And he made his choice.”

“Ah– all right. Well, I didn’t ask,” Gladstone said, tone suddenly cold. The way she spoke about Elvira… It felt like this aunt was trying to turn him against the sweetest grandmother anyone could have. He was done being polite, swiftly left the study, and headed out of the house. 

Gladstone sighed in relief when he saw Magica seated in his car. He quickly got into the driver’s seat. Stiff for second, he let out another deep sigh as he put the car in drive.

“Are you all right?” Magica asked, concerned. It wasn’t like her to sound so worried. 

“Yeah,” Gladstone said quietly as they started down the long driveway. 

“You saw what I saw, right?” Magica questioned. She knew she hadn’t been seeing things, but it still helped to have some confirmation she wasn’t alone. She relaxed back in her seat, asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe when we’re close enough to Duckburg to see the skyline,” Gladstone muttered. 

Magica paused, then put her hand over his on the gear shift. There was a lot to take in. Less than a half an hour ago he had been happy to have a family he could spend time with freely. Spend freely with both him *and* her. 

“You know,” Magica said, “my mother’s grandmother’s side of the family, they’re nice. They– well. My grandmother– well, she’ll have quite a few questions, and I’m sure she’ll talk you under a table, but we do spend time together. You’d have to ignore Rosolio, though, if he’s tagging along. Ugh. They’re in Italy, so I don’t know how easily–”

Gladstone’s phone buzzed. He went to reach in his suit pocket before Magica quickly snatched it out. “Oh no,” she scowled, “not while you’re driving. I don’t care how lucky you are.”

Despite the lingering tense energy in the air, Gladstone chuckled, “Okay, okay. Read the text for me then. In case it’s from someone important.”

Magica glanced at the message and gave an undefined sigh. It wasn’t in frustration, just the usual “this is so typical” tone. “You just won two free tickets to Italy.”


	7. Frenemy AND Paramour (Nega Magica/Gladstone + Nega Gladstone/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my Negaverse Gladstone (Grimstone) and Nega Magica in my 87/Comics headcanon. SHELDRAKE is eyemeohmy‘s and he’s a cool jerk. Wheee.
> 
> THERE IS CUSSING and dirty things said. It’s the Negaverse that's just what goes down there. PG-13ish?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my Negaverse Gladstone (Grimstone) and Nega Magica in my 87/Comics headcanon. SHELDRAKE is eyemeohmy‘s and he’s a cool jerk. Wheee.
> 
> THERE IS CUSSING and dirty things said. It’s the Negaverse that's just what goes down there. PG-13ish?!

Sheldrake was glad to have a very easy mission this time. It was planned to be the typical “act natural at a party, steal a thing, and then slip out” kind of job. And it was a solo mission; no coworkers to be annoyed with him (and vice versa). To top it off, he was actually invited to this shindig. Well, his paladin sect received the invite, but that meant he didn’t have to sneak in. With everything added up, it was practically a vacation! 

What Shel expected to be a boring hunters’ gala was anything but. The leaders of different groups were trying to appeal to a modern, younger crowd. Instead of a stuffy meeting with the typical job fair flair, it was a real, honest to God party. A full bar! And dancers in cages! Sheldrake couldn't help but chuckle at how hard old fogey hunters were trying to get new blood. Crimey.

The paladin went to the bar and ordered a drink. He sat on a stool facing the crowd, keeping an eye out for his target. 

"Well, hello there," a sultry voice greeted him. A tall redheaded duck leaned up against the bar beside him. She motioned to the bartender to get his attention. "I'll have what he's having."

Sheldrake wasn't caught off guard by the attractive duck's flirting. Despite his cursed energy that often drove others away or made them immediately dislike him, people that were intentionally and professionally deceptive could overcome it in an attempt to get something they wanted. Lord, it was a test, though.

The lady’s tight red dress and orange wavy locks were clearly up to no good. She was a literal red herring if Shel ever saw one. However, he played it cool.

"First hunter's gala?" He sipped his drink and gave the mystery woman a smile.

"Oh, I've been to a few--none quite like this though. Luckily I dressed for the occasion," she paused like she was turning a knob to up the seduction. She moved around, but kept looking back at Shel. "It would be even more exciting if I had one of those VIP passes I've heard others whisper so much about."

Sheldrake smirked. He knew this overtly sexy duck was trying to weasel her way to being a plus one on a special invite. However, he was curious as to why. "Yeah, it would be great to have one of those. But what is it even for? To join an exclusive party with more go-go dancers in cages?"

The redhead let out a giggle. A high pitched one, as if Sheldrake were just the funniest, most charming guy in the room. "I heard it was for a special auction. A bunch of rare items retrieved and uncovered by different hunters,” she replied. “My, I couldn't afford any of them, but I would love to look. Be some nice arm candy for a kind gentleman."

Sheldrake just chuckled before taking a sip of his drink. The lady hadn't touched hers yet. She watched him, slowly drawing her finger around the rim of the glass with a bewitching glow in her eyes.

Finally, Sheldrake said bluntly, "I'd give your performance a 9 out of 10. It might work on those first year hunters over there.” He waved vaguely to a group of younger bachelor-types chatting and laughing on the dance floor. “However, not quite buyin’ what you’re sellin’.”

The redhead shot them a quick look before turning back to Shel. "But they're not my type," she pouted. She leaned in a bit toward the paladin, and placed her hand over his on the bar. "I’d rather have someone more seasoned who can answer any questions I may have about the artifacts."

"Oh, I see, I see; switching gears, okay, okay. Stroke my ego first, then go for my intellect? If sex doesn't sell, then try brains? Gettin’ any warmer?" Sheldrake downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. "Well, this has been very amusing, and I wish you all the luck. Unfortunately, my VIP pass is just for me and doesn't allow a buddy. Boo dang hoo. Maybe try one of those light paladins in the white capes over to the left. They're way more sociable and have to travel in pairs." He gave another general hand wave… everywhere.

The redhead narrowed her dusky eyes. It was the first time she had shown any annoyance with Shel--ah, there it was, back to normal. The paladin slid off his stool, but before he could stand, the lady pressed her entire body flush against his side, beak in his head feathers..

Sheldrake expected a final desperate plea. Something to the effect of “I really need to see this event for my research,” or “please help me, I lost my own pass and my sect will be furious.”

Instead he got a low, unexpected voice. A familiar one that could be likened to Antonio Birderas' role in “Debate with a Vampire”, except if he were a white peking duck raised in suburbia with a twinge of a farmboy accent.

"Shel, I need to get into that auction to obtain a crucial item," Grimstone's voice whispered clearly out of this petite, curvy redheaded lady’s bill, "you have to give me your pass."

The paladin did not outwardly act surprised. He had 100% picked up the fact this woman was hiding something--more than the obvious. He did not expect, however, that Grimestone would be involved.

Shel hummed shortly. With a coy smile, he slid a hand around the redhead’s waist, whispered, "I didn't know you were so proficient in glamour spells."

"I'm not," Grimstone said, his voice reverting back to that soft, playful feminine tone, "my wife is one of the gentlemen servers."

"Oh, how cute," Sheldrake teased, pulling away from the duck.

"She doesn't like to be… flashy," Grimstone explained, a little defensive, looking over his luscious figure and tight-fitting dress.

"I get it, I get it. Taking one for the team, hm?" the paladin smirked as he sized Grimstone’s disguise up, "give my compliments to the caster, though.” He blew a kiss from his fingertips, as if praising a delicious gourmet meal. “Great job. Succulent, divine, mouthwateringly juicy."

Grimstone scowled, crossing his arms. "Sheldrake, the pass."

"Sorry. I have business here, too," the paladin disagreed, "why don't you try those frat boys I recommended earlier?”

"I’ve already tried. You were my last resort. Trust me, this is for the greater good," Grimstone explained.

Sheldrake put his hand to his chin, pretending he was thinking deeply. Grimstone and him had an interesting work relationship; they’d helped each other on several occasions in the past, but also had been on opposite sides a few times, too. Finally, after much consideration, he said casually, "Yeah, no. I'm sure you'll find another way."

Grimstone’s tiny manicured fingers curled into tight fists. "Is there somewhere private we could discuss this more openly?" he pressed.

"Man, this is a borderline orgy sex party. I'm sure there’s a room we can get for a half an hour," Sheldrake replied, then gave an obnoxious wink. 

Grim rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this. People have been dipping out to the stairwell to smoke. We’ll talk there,” the disguised warlock suggested.

“Sure. Sure. I take it your high school prom wasn’t that exciting,” Sheldrake taunted. 

Grim sighed and nodded to a waiter nearby before taking Sheldrake’s arm in his. “Let’s walk, then. Hopefully no one’s there at the moment,” he said. Despite the voice coming from the redhead being so playful and demure, Sheldrake could tell Grimstone was using his “I'm taking charge of this operation” tone. 

Sheldrake would normally roll his eyes when Grim spoke to him so seriously, as if he were one of his many wild rugrats. However, he played along, swaying off side by side with this very attractive lady.

Once outside on the desolate stairwell, Grimstone exhaled heavily. "There is a magical person of interest I’m here to free, and it's of the utmost importance that I do.” He spoke in an unusual voice; neither his normal voice, or his disguise’s. Rather, a unique combination; feminine, but more husky. Kinda cute, actually.

"And you don't think what I'm doing here isn’t important, too?" Sheldrake replied, loosely crossing his arms.

"I really *do not* have time for this Shel. I’m handling a case where a school of children were transformed into inanimate objects, and I need to free this woman known as the Brunswick witch who specializes in these curses and can break it,," Grimstone explained. He glanced cautiously at the stairwell window.

"And I have an out of place artifact from a different universe I need to win--or steal, if I have to. I can't give you my pass," Sheldrake insisted. He was going to add a flirty comment, but quickly saw the short nod Grimstone gave in the window’s direction before looking back at him again. 

Sheldrake sighed. "You're really going to fight me in a building full of hunters?” He leaned close, booping his beak against Grimstone’s. “*Really*, my guy?”

"I need the pass, Shel. You leave me no choice," Grimstone lamented, rolling his hands up his arms as if drawing back sleeves. Sheldrake expected a punch, but was instead tackled around the waist like a damn linebacker instead. 

Sheldrake would’ve had the wind knocked out of him if he hit the ground like Grim intended. Instead, he wiggled his shoulder and pulled an arm free, grabbing his attacker. With expert ease, Sheldrake pinned Grim down on his back with one knee in a partial straddle. 

Brushing loose bangs from his eyes, he looked down to see if Grim had slipped out of his glamour in the brief scuffle. Rather, Grimstone’s disguise was shifting, brows becoming thicker, body filling out, patches of feathers turning black.

Grimstone was trying to copy and transform into Sheldrake. 

“Aw,” Sheldrake chortled at the struggling duck, “well, they do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Grimstone gave a distinctively annoyed “ugh” before ripping an arm free and grabbing Shel by the throat; however, he didn’t squeeze or attempt to choke him. "And I do often tell you to go fuck yourself."

"That… trying to be a badass line doesn't quite work in your position, buddy," Sheldrake added as he fought to keep Grimstone's hand down.

"I just have to,” Grimstone's voice dipped back down to his own before changing into one eerily similar to Sheldrake’s, "keep you talking."

"Hol-lee shit. Well, the glamour spell might’ve been the missus, but you're totally doing that all on your own. How quaint! I can't believe you've been holding out on me. I thought you told me *all* the tricks you could do," Sheldrake replied. Grimstone went to grab something, anything from Sheldrake’s pocket. “Oh, no, you don't! Don't get handsy with me."

"You didn’t have a problem with it before," Grimstone snarked at the comment. He continued flailing and clawing until Sheldrake eased back to elbow him in the beak. Just enough leverage for the warlock to free his second hand, grip Shel’s shoulder tight.

Grimstone snarled, twisting one of his leg's around Shel's until they switched positions, the paladin now pinned beneath the demonic duck.

"How is it that we're both expertly trained in hand to hand combat, but whenever we fight, it’s like we’re stupid little kids slapping each other on the playground during recess?" Grimstone grunted. He continued searching desperately for some personal item on Sheldrake while also trying to hold the speckled duck down. Shel managed to punch him in the jaw before Grim hooked his arm around Sheldrake's to pin it back above the paladin’s head.

"I just assume,” Sheldrake grunted, arm freed and throttling Grim, "I assume we don't really want to kill each other, so we do all this bullshit ass grabbing--"

The stairwell door abruptly and loudly opened. Both ducks stopped fighting, looking up with eyes comically bugging from their shocked faces.

A paladin recruit in their early twenties stared back at them, blinking. “Um…” he gaped.

Two almost identical dudes, possibly, maybe twins, with one wearing a sexy dress, wrestling on the stairwell. 

“Look,” the recruit grumbled, raising a hand, "I'm not judging whatever fetish is going on here, but please do it somewhere more, uh, private? Some of us need to vape.” With a grumble, he left, shutting the door behind him.

"Well, shit," Sheldrake snorted. Grimstone sighed. The two relaxed and unwound, sitting side by side.

"We need to solve this. Now," Grimstone said firmly. Sheldrake watched as he stood, offering his hand to help the paladin up. "I don’t want to fight you, but I need to save those children."

Shel blinked then finally conceded with a big, exaggerated sigh. "Okay, okay.” He took Grim’s hand. “... Actually... I think I have an idea."

\-----

The third floor of the hotel was unsettlingly quiet. There was a low murmur of voices coming from the auction room, barely audible outside the door.

"Grim! Grim!" the blonde duck whispered harshly as she walked up to Sheldrake. The male server uniform Magica wore was baggy when she was out of glamour. She fixed the bun in her hair as she said, "You have to be careful. I overheard a few disturbing things about the auction… I'm worried some of the items could hurt you. Maybe… maybe I should go instead."

"It's fine, it's fine. I know what I'm doing. Besides, I'm the only one who could get his voice right,” Sheldrake--Grimstone--replied. He smirked, a slight leer on his beak. “But how about a kiss for good luck anyway?"

Magica glanced around the hallway; with the coast clear, she leaned in to peck the corner of Grimstone’s beak. "Please, please, please do be careful," she pleaded.

Magica turned to leave, then stopped; turned back around quickly. She took Grimstone’s face in her hands and pulled him into a deep kiss. He could feel her tongue shyly stroke his for a second, hands affectionately squeezing his cheeks, caressing the corners of his beak. 

The light witch broke the kiss when she heard a noise from down the hall. Luckily, they were still alone.

"I'm getting this foreboding feeling off you, Grim,” Magica said dubiously, “you sure you're full up on luck?" She let his face go and stepped back, slipping into the form of a masculine Borzoi waiter.  
The “paladin” restrained an amused grin. "Really, I'm fine,” he reassured. “You do your job, and I'll do mine.” He winked, then entered the ballroom.

Magica took the stairwell at the end of the hall to the lobby downstairs, only to be greeted by Grimstone a second later. She looked up, eyes wide; it was Grimstone’s voice, undeniably, but he was still disguised as Sheldrake.

"Love, there’s been a change in plans," Grim stated.

With a blink and *poof*, Magica changed back to her normal form. "Who... what...? I thought I just spoke to you a second… You were that paladin, but... How?" She squeezed Grimstone’s shoulders, scanning his eyes and face closely.

"I’m disguised as the paladin I told you about, yes. He’s agreed to help us; we need to wait by the fire escape in case he needs emergency back-up should anything go wrong," Grimstone explained.

Slowly, color drained from Magica’s beak.

“What is it?” Grimstone asked, concerned.

"N-Nothing!” Magic squawked. How could she have been so easily deceived-- “I'll explain later. Let's go help your friend." She quickly disguised both herself and Grimstone as canine servers. "We'll just… act like we’re taking a smoke break in the back."

"Good, I was thinking the same.” Grimstone frowned and looked away. “And he's not my friend…” he trailed off.

"But we can trust him to help us, right?" Magica asked in her own voice.

"Eh, we can trust him, but not *trust* him," Grimstone said vaguely, “if you get what I mean.”

Magica rubbed her temples. "We're leaving this mission to a paladin *you don't fully trust*?"

"Oh, I don't know. I seem to remember doing the same thing a long time ago, and that worked out just fine," Grim said with a half smile, squeezing Magica’s shoulder.

"That's different! I was a lightbearer. I--" Magica was interrupted by the opening of a stairwell door above them.

Grim took Magica by the arm. "Let's go take that smoke break," he said quietly, guiding her down the hall.

\------

"Is there any reason that a red bowling ball is in a cage?" Sheldrake asked a uniformed goose attendant in the silent auction. "Kinda funny… what's up with that tall wig it’s got on? Why’s it even wearing a wig at all? It’s… it’s a bowling ball, dude."

The attendant scoffed, turned up his bill to Sheldrake, and promptly walked away. 

Shel raised an eyebrow at the attendant. Though he was used to people ignoring or giving him the cold shoulder, he was simply trying to do business with professionals who’d worked and trained their asses off to cater to eccentric, annoying customers. If there was anything more powerful than the hole in his chest, it was a retail worker faking pleasantries to make a sale. And this auction was technically a big hunter sale’s event. 

He stepped closer to the displayed ball as he rubbed his chin. Sheldrake thought back to the kiss with Grim's wife. He couldn't pass up that opportunity of mistaken identity. Now the next time him and Grim fought, he could cheekily mention that he kissed his wife. It’d make for a great curveball, a nice distraction.

That second, deeper kiss, though... man. Woo boy.

Sheldrake suddenly realized something, and groaned irritably. Light witches and their kissing spells. It was a power boast meant for Grim's dark magic. “Shit,” he said softly to himself as he rubbed the spot on his chest. It made it harder to be stealthy if everyone hated him even more than usual. Which was something, he’d found, could actually happen. He looked up and saw a variety of both heated and cold glares from older paladins in the room. Though security seemed to want to avoid him at all costs. 

Maybe Magica’s cursed kiss would be helpful in the long run. 

The dark red bowling ball shifted on its own, slightly toward Shel when he had cussed. The speckled duck hadn’t noticed at first, but when he started bitching under his breath about one asshole paladin he’d partnered up with in the past, the ball moved again.

"Sounds like you are not too happy with the people here either.” It was a woman’s voice, but Shel knew only he could hear it. Telepathic dialects and all. He stepped closer to the ball. "You don't have to speak out loud to me. Just think the words, and I will hear them."

"Cool. Cool. So… Who are you?" Sheldrake tried to focus, keep the magic ball from “overhearing” his more intrusive thoughts.

"I'm known as the Brunswick witch in your universe. I was misplaced from my own dimension by a spell, and captured by your colleagues," the red bowling ball explained. 

"Nice… two birds with one... ball.” Sheldrake blew a raspberry, ignoring the disgusted look from an old woman passing behind him. “A friend of mine needs your help, and I’m here to return you to your universe.” He recalled his fight with Grimstone on the stairwell-- Yeah, well, he guessed they were still friends.

"How do you plan to get me out of here? There are guards everywhere," the ball inquired.

"Plan is to purchase you fair and square… Annnd if that goes wrong, just yoink you up and run away. I got some backup to help us out," Sheldrake answered. He briefly thought about the kiss with Magica, then the memory of Grim trying to give him mouth to mouth a few missions back. If he could compare the two, they’d--

“Ahem,” the ball interrupted curtly.

"What? Don't people snog and make out in your universe? Don't tell me... when you get laid, is it called a strike?" The duck’s beak moved a little, mouthing half-bits of the words he was thinking.

If the ball could blush, it’d be an even brighter shade of red right now. "Well, I never!" she hissed, scandalized. However, given the curious and shocked reactions from people nearby, she’d been overheard.

"Great," Sheldrake grunted. He remained calm, but mentally assessed how he’d break the bowling ball free and fight his way out of the crowd with the weapons hidden on his person. To his surprise, none of the guards reacted to the outburst. That was a little confusing.

One of the attendants walked right up to Sheldrake. He hadn't even heard him come near before the attendant spoke. 

“This item is not for sale... to you."

Sheldrake gave a curious head tilt. The hole in his chest was itching again but he held back scratching it. Blast that light witch and whatever she had passed on with that kiss. Fuckin’ aliens probably having a feast.

"Oh? But there’s a silent auction sheet right here. Let me just put my sect's name on there, sooo, technically, they’re buying it. Not me," he said cheekily as he reached for the auction sheet. 

The attendant grabbed his wrist. “I’m sorry. This item is already sold,” he said calmly, although his grip on Shel’s wrist had tightened. 

The speckled duck sighed and ripped his hand out of the hold. He’d done it aggressively, like he was ready to fight, but unfortunately could not given the social circumstances. Aw, beans; he wanted to see this guy’s face turned inside out, too.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Shel grumbled. He acted resigned and defeated, taking a moment to read the room. How exactly would he get the artifact out of here? He glanced back at the window, the fire escape stairwell attached to it.

There was a waiter serving drinks to guests. Probably one of his “partners in crime” disguised, though he couldn’t tell which one. He turned his attention back to the glowering attendant. “Well, if you’re just gonna be a big meanie, I think I’ll go get myself a drink.”

Sheldrake approached the waiter. The distinctive glare he got from the Borzoi left him to conclude it was the wife. He swiftly took a drink off the tray, said, “Sorry about earlier, sweetie. If it’s any consolation, you’re a better kisser than your husband. So where’s our boy at?”

The waiter gave a nudge toward one of the windows. Shel did not see anyone there at the moment. He knocked down his drink and placed the empty glass on the waiter’s tray.

The waiter glared then grumbled, “Well, can you get it? Without any unnecessary conflict?”

“Nope! Unfortunately, I have this effect on people. They always seem to get pretty agitated around me, like I’m some kind of big ol’ pest. Hasn’t your hubby mentioned it?” Sheldrake prodded, the waiter growing tenser by the second.

“Then you leave, and Grim and I will take care of it from here,” the disguised Magica growled. She smiled politely as a man took a drink from the tray and walked off.

“Oh, no, no. No. I’m not leaving you two alone with this,” Shel said with a cool smile.

Magica’s eyes narrowed, her chest tightening and face hot. “Then lay low. We’ll do the fighting, and you just act your normal paladin part,” she seethed, and nodded at another canine waiter--Grimstone. Shel wondered if his curse was causing her to act so bossy and high and mighty, or if the lady was always this aggressive and short. “However… I don’t see a witch locked up in here.”

Sheldrake motioned to the bowling ball a few feet away. “She’s got a weak constitution,” he said. “Prone to the vapors if you say anything naughty.”

Magica squinted at him, as if he were joking--badly. Nonetheless, she discreetly signaled at her husband, then to the ball.

Grimstone made his way over to the displayed bowling ball, examined it. He looked up, and nodded once.

Magica was surprised. 

Sheldrake winked.

“Still… stay out of our way,” the witch ordered.

“We’ll see, we’ll see,” Sheldrake hummed. 

Still disguised, Grim unceremoniously dropped his serving tray, smashed open the display glass, and snatched the bowling ball from its pedestal. In an instant, two guards were there to tackle him, but he leapt up on the plinth and out of the way.

Magica, spotting two more guards running to stop Grim, pushed away from Sheldrake. She threw her tray like a deadly frisbee, knocking one guard into the other. The couple’s plan had been a bit crude but simple: grab the artifact, jump out the window, and run away. The hunters probably predicted something more complicated and dangerous, essentially overestimating the two.

The guards by Grim stood up, reaching for their weapons; they stopped, gobsmacked. The waiter had transformed into a duplicate of the older guard.

The younger looked between the two. “You-- but how--”

“It’s me, Tony! I’m Mike!” the duplicate cried. “He’s the real thief!”

“What?” the older guard yelled. “That’s not--I’m me! I’m Mike!”

In the brief confusion, the duplicate slid away.

The guards that had been temporarily thwarted by a serving tray were getting back on their feet. They glared at Sheldrake, in the direction of where the tray had been thrown. Sheldrake made a playful “uh oh” expression, then stepped to the side to reveal Magica behind him. She was still in disguise, but now holding throwing daggers. 

Gracefully and swiftly, Magica tossed the blades--none of which actually hit the guards. Instead, they pierced the two heads of a monstrous statue behind them. Another distraction to keep the attention off of Grimstone.

Despite the fact the room was full of hunters, none of them moved to help the guards. Surprisingly, Sheldrake was irritated by this. Sure, the plan was to get the item out of there as quickly and easily as possible, but he was still disappointed none of his colleagues actually stepped up and did anything. If he wasn't in on this couple’s crazy plan, Sheldrake would certainly, and most enthusiastically, try to stop them in what he hoped would result in a nice, big fight. 

Now… Well, now that’d just be awkward, so he only took a few more steps away from Magica. 

“Great party we’re having here, huh?” He attempted to converse with the nearest auctioneer. They gasped, appalled by this horrid duck, and swiftly rushed away. “Ah, that's right. Damn white witch magnified the curse. Great. Fuck, shit, and Hell.” No big explosive fight had made him grumpy.

He looked back to the couple. Magica was drawing another guard away from her disguised husband. In a flash, she threw some needle thin daggers at the guard. The spots down the side of the man’s neck and shoulder must have been perfect acupuncture to knock the attacker out.

Grimstone was at the window when another guard attempted to tackle him. He dropped the bowling ball, which made an audible grunt upon impact. Sheldrake kept an eye on the fight but also took another drink off a waiter’s tray. He spoke loudly, not really directed toward anyone specific in the room, “So we’re all really just going to stand here and watch the rent-a-hunters fight?” 

Finally someone that wasn’t a guard grabbed Magica from behind. Still in her Borzoi disguise she slipped out of the hold, whipped around and stabbed the attack in the shoulder with one of her large throwing needles. Sheldrake winched and mouthed an “ou”. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but more mocking. 

Another hunter that had been just watching managed to close one of the shutters on the large window in an attempt to block Grimstone’s escape. It was already clear the demonic duck wasn’t one of the real guards. This became more obvious when Grimstone blasted a fireball at the now closed window. 

A young hunter made an attempt to toss a bottle of holy water at the demonic duckll. Grimstone had not noticed the bottle coming at him. Magica, however, had seen it. Grim’s disguise faded as Sheldrake came out of the crowd to catch the bottle. He held his drink in his free hand, which he unceremoniously smashed in a nearby paladin’s face. 

“Turns out you did need some help, hm, babe?” Sheldrake teased as he backed up toward Grimstone. As an older hunter ran over, Sheldrake made sure to trip and kick him out of the way. 

"I can't believe this is the paladin you grinded on in Austria," Magica snapped, blasting a ray of light at a pair of men attempting to intervene.

"Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you tell her everything. She’s got your balls in a vice grip," Sheldrake said to Grim before backhandedly punching an attacker in the face. He smirked at Magica. "He's certainly a keeper!"

“Most of the time,” she quipped, kicking and shoving a guard over a table--and right out the window. “I do hope that wasn’t a friend of yours.”

“Ah, I don’t have any friends here. No love lost. Maybe a friend and a half, if I generously count you guys,” Shel said as he grabbed a hunter by the head. The hunter was surprised, not expecting such betrayal--nor Shel to knee him in the chin. Shel’s grin was wide and manic; he looked back at Magica, guffawed, “I didn't realize you had to swap spit with your husband to give him a power boost!” 

“Excuse me,” Grimstone huffed from nearby. He picked up a few artifacts, shook and tossed them in the air. That caught some of their attackers’ attention.

“It was an accident!” Magica sputtered out before she could be accused of anything. “I thought he was you in my glamor spell!”

“Excuse me?” Grimstone repeated, this time genuinely confused. Magica made an irritated grunt before throwing a needle knife at a hunter that was attempting to pick up the fallen bowling ball.

“Eyes on the prize, you two, or I’ll turn this mission around,” Sheldrake lectured, teasing, “We’ll deal with any jealousy and drama later. Time to get that Brunswitch.” 

Magica was still annoyed but gave a nod. She wormed around a hunter trying to grab her, snatching up the bowling ball. Grimstone and Sheldrake both played defense, keeping all would-be attackers off of her. 

“Your wife is a slightly better kisser than you,” Sheldrake said to Grim as he pulled out one of his guns, firing on the burning window. He shot a hole clean through the center. 

Magica, without being told, made her way out. 

Sheldrake shot at other hunters in the room running at them. “Like sittin’ ducks!”

Grimstone grabbed the back of his rescuer’s coat, dragging him to the window. “Eyes on the prize, remember?!” he sniped.

“Hey, if I drink that holy water, does that mean we can’t make out for like forty-eight hours?” Sheldrake asked, allowing himself to be tugged along. 

Grimstone laughed, tossing the paladin out the window before following him. They landed on a metal fire escape, next to a tall mirror leaning against the stairs. Grim grabbed Shel’s hand hard, and jumped into the mirror as if it were liquid. 

They both tumbled out a second mirror in Grimstone and Magica’s barn, rolling into a pile of hay. 

Magica was standing by the mirror, hay stuck in her clothing and hair. “Well, our new friend has agreed to help change back the children. I’m taking her to the school. And then we’re going to talk about your behavior,” Magica explained, directing her last comment at Sheldrake.

“Oh ho, you think I’m still going to be here when you get back? I guess that depends how busy your hubby keeps me,” Shel replied, smirking. 

Both Magica and the bowling ball scoffed. 

Grimstone stood from the haystack as Magica went into the mirror with the ball to their next location. 

Once Sheldrake got up, Grimstone went into lecture mode. 

“What were you thinking!? You could have gotten yourself in trouble with the other paladins. I need you for inside information. You could be their next big target now!” Grim complained, more like an overbearing mother than an agitated, powerful demon. 

Shel opened his bill to make a sassy comment, to explain himself, but stopped to consider what Grimstone had said. “What do you mean *could have*? I just--” Shel caught a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby window. An… everyday Joe, green-headed mallard stared back at him. He laughed. “Damn, your lady is good.”

“It will fade in an hour or so. Next time we run into each other on a mission, let me handle the fighting,” Grim said in his usual stern, reprimanding tone.

"Sooooo, you owe me now. I did you a favor." Sheldrake wore a shit-eating grin as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

"What do you want, Agent Netta?" Grimstone attempted to sound cold, detached.

"Gasp! Grim, you wound me! After all we have been through. I like it when you call me Shelly instead. Preferably breathlessly," the paladin's smirk widened. 

The demonic duck rolled his eyes. "I'm not without honour. I do owe you a favor, but within reason. You know my boundaries when interfering with the dealings of mortals," Grimstone returned stoically.

Sheldrake glanced around a moment as if looking for something.

"What is it? Is someone here?" Grimstone couldn’t help but look around, too.

"Nah, just checking for hidden cameras for whatever warlock reality show you just made that dramatic speech for," Sheldrake teased. Grimstone sighed, seemingly annoyed, but Shel saw a hint of an amused smirk at the corner of the demon duck's beak. Even Grim was aware he was spouting shit. 

Grimstone crossed his arms. "What did you need, Sheldrake?" His shoulders relaxed as he spoke. As much as he hated to admit it, he did trust this damn paladin.

Sheldrake explained. "There's an old paladin at that hunter convention. I worked with him once, and he shot several children in the back of the head during a mission. Seemed like something he did a lot. Usually we gotta call back-up when we find kids on the scene. Instead this dickcheese went in with guns blazing like it was any other big scary shoot ‘em up monster battle. We didn't even know if the kids were victims or transgressors." 

Sheldrake stepped closer to Grim and put his hand on his arm. He gave it a light squeeze. He knew Grim just ate up small touches like these. "But, see. Remember when I was gone for several months? This bastard had knocked me out when I tried to stop him. We held a trial to get him removed, but all his friends were on the jury. Also, I mean, what’s *my* word against--well, *anyone* else’s? I couldn't hang out with you during the case because he had people tailing me to dig up dirt since I was the only witness. I couldn't even feed right with all that going on--"

"I don't need to know anymore. Which one is he?" Grimstone asked.

"Oh, I'll bring him out to you. But you have to make him suffer slowly." Sheldrake's eyes shimmered like a kid opening gifts on Christmas morning.

"Anything for a friend."


	8. Home (Gladstone/Magica)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in my headcanon for an 87/Comic universe for Magicstone. Ahhhhhh. Thank you eyemeohmy for so much betaing omg.

Gladstone awoke to a tremendous throbbing headache. It could be compared to an extremely bad hangover, if he had ever had one of those. Even with the heavier drinking the few times he tagged around as a “fourth wheel” when Donald’s two bright-feathered friends were visiting. 

He let out a soft groan, not wanting to open his eyes until he remembered how exactly he got like this. There were just scattered, small memories he could recall. A fight with something. Magica was definitely there. Gladstone rubbed his forehead with his palm. Even with closed eyes, he could still tell there was a little beam of light coming into the room.

When the half-goose finally opened an eye, it was through the spread fingers of his hand still on his face. The light came from the window, peeking between a set of curtains Gladstone did not recognize. Not his, and not the ones in Magica’s little shack. 

Gladstone instantly sat up in the bed, and then immediately regretted moving so fast. It made his head swim. The dark room spun for a long minute. Gladstone felt if he laid back down the pain would get even worse. He noticed there were a pair of doors across the room: dark brown wood, very tall and wide; one was propped open by a star-shaped doorstop. He didn’t feel like he could get up safely right now. It was a very strange feeling, for Gladstone to be weak. His second panicked thought was he had lost his luck yet again. However, he did know this was a stranger’s house, and he needed to get out immediately. 

The half-goose cautiously sat up, legs hanging over the side of the bed. His head was still swimming. Once it steadied, Gladstone gave a closer look around the room. The walls were made up of the same dark wood as the doors; every three feet, tall, intricate pillars had been carved expertly into the walls. They resembled Greek Ionic columns with swirling capitals on top.

Gladstone spotted his coat and tie across the room, draped over a nearby Victorian cherry wood chair by a matching vanity. His hat sat atop the ornate mirror.

Groaning, Gladstone finally got up and walked over to the window. Just moving felt like too much effort. He pushed one curtain aside, enough to shine a little light on his face. With another grunt, his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Outside, he saw a nearby forest edging into what used to be a small vineyard. All overgrown. The wooden spikes and poles that held grape vines still stood. 

On dilapidated fencing sat two black crows. Two very familiar crows. 

Gladstone relaxed and sighed in relief. All the tension of waking up in a strange location disappeared; Magica was here. But where he was he still didn’t know. He remembered he went to Magica’s shack to visit her, but that was all he could recall for the moment.

He was already feeling much better as he explored the large bedroom. The dresser on the other side of the room had several framed photographs sitting on it. Like the rest of the room, the frames were wood, antique, gilded in gold leaf. He looked over the pictures before something caught his interest.

Gladstone picked up one photograph of two young children with their parents. He wouldn’t say what they were wearing more modern, but it definitely looked newer than all the other Victorian-esque pictures. All smiling, like your usual family portrait. Gladstone knew he had a few of him as a kid with his parents with the same warm, friendly look. 

It then dawned on him the two kids in the picture were Magica and her brother Poe. He chuckled softly and put it back down on the dresser. 

A familiar face appeared in the doorway, and Gladstone couldn’t help but give a smile. 

Magica had a pitcher of water in her hands and spoke as she walked in. “Of course you wake up when I leave the room. I hope you weren’t too worried.” She went to the bedside stand first, filling an empty glass sitting there. 

Gladstone’s body relaxed, most noticeably in his shoulders. He walked over to the bed to sit again. “Can you fill me in on what happened?” he whispered like they weren’t alone, needed to keep quiet. 

Magica handed Gladstone the glass. “Drink this first,” she said. There was fleeting concern in her tone, like she was trying to hide it but a little slipped through. 

Without hesitating, Gladstone did what he was told. “Okay, what was that? Some potion to balance me out, or?” he asked as he handed back the glass. 

“Water; you’re probably dehydrated,” Magica scowled a little. As if he were a fool for not knowing what water tasted (or did not taste) like. 

“I think my luck is gone,” Gladstone muttered.

“I doubt that. With what happened last night, you were lucky to get out of there alive. You don’t remember anything?”

“I came to surprise you with an impromptu visit. You weren’t home. Poe let me in even though Ratface told him not to.. After that it's kinda fuzzy,” Gladstone explained. 

Magica put her hand on his forehead to feel if it was hot or not. He’d been warm earlier, but now seemed normal again. She sighed. “I was late for a meeting with my grand coven.They had...” She tried to think of a non-magic layman's term for it. “They had projected outside for the meeting. I assume they saw you and must have thought you were an intruder.”

“I do remember seeing three big ladies,” Gladstone said, paused a moment, “big as in projected. Like you said. Like a magical facetime call, hm?” 

“Some of us still have flip phones, Gladstone,” Magica ughed, “but yes, like facetime.” 

“So I ran into them and they zapped me with something? Do I still have my luck?” Gladstone sounded slightly panicked at the last question. A bit of cracking to his voice like a teen hitting puberty. 

Magica sat on the side of the bed facing him. “You really don’t remember anything? I think you still have your luck. Trust me. I think that's how you are still alive. I’m very rusty on my fake death spells. It had to be your luck.”

“Magica, give yourself some more credit. I’ve always seen you cast great magic. I mean, I don’t know what kind of form that stuff is graded on, but it always works for you!” There was a moment's pause as the gears turned in the half-goose’s head. “Wait, death spell?!” 

Magica gave a little wince at that, even though Gladstone hadn’t been very loud.

“When I got there, they were accusing you of spying on them. One had used a silence spell on you, so I didn’t know what you were trying to tell me,” Magica explained, wrinkling her beak, “they wanted to get rid of you. I lied and said that I needed you for your access to Scrooge and his dime for the Midus spell.”

If Magica had said such a thing early on in their relationship he would have been skeptical. But over time he learned she did keep him separate from her… magic business. She hadn’t used him to get to his uncle since long before they were “dating”.

“They wanted me to get rid of you STILL, even though I said I needed you for--you know--the mission they have me on. Pretty much sabotaging me if what I had said had been true. So... I made it seem like you were dead. By wand zap. Seemed to work. They believed it. At least, I think they did,” Magica explained. 

Gladstone felt like she was telling the truth, but she was holding something back. There was a pause to her inflection on words that left him thinking she was deciding carefully on how she said each sentence. 

His head was still too sore to press for more details on what actually happened. For now.

“Where are we?”

“Well, obviously I couldn’t have you at my house in case they-- ugh---” she paused to use the term Gladstone said, “facetime me again. This is an old estate; we’ll be fine and safe here. It would be best to stay a day or two to keep off my grand coven’s radar.”

Gladstone glanced around the room from where he sat in bed. It really felt like he’d stepped back into the past; the early 1800s, where everything was fancy, posh but lovingly ornate. Window curtains and sheets were a dark silver, the latter plush and silky. The floors were polished wood with several black Persian rugs. Though the place looked old, there were brass electric lamps on the walls, a vintage Baroque-style stained glass flush mount on the ceiling.

“I’ve only seen one room in this place and can already tell it's better than your other home. Why not stay here all the time?”

“I brought you here because it's safer. But there are safety spells cast all over this place that interfere with my own magic, so I could not ‘work’ here,” Magica answered shortly. “Did you need to call anyone? Being gone for more than a day, I don’t want your uncle to think I kidnapped you. Again.” 

“How long was I out?” Gladstone asked, now concerned because Magica wanted him to check in with his family. 

“Overnight. It’s already past noon,” Magica said as she put her hand on his cheek. She gave a light smile, like there was something more on her mind. “You should wash up. You must be hungry. I started making soup.”

Gladstone chuckled, taunting, “This ancient place has plumbing?”

Magica withdrew her hand to give him a playful push on the shoulder. “Of course it does. I’m not THAT old.”

“Ah, so this is your childhood home? Or something like that?” Gladstone’s curiosity was piqued.

“Yes, something like that,” Magica replied vaguely, “you really do need to wash up though.”

Gladstone gave a glance back over to his items on the vanity. With the light brighter in the room now, he saw the clothing was streaked with dirt. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his bill. “Oh, man… one of them threw me, huh? With a blast of magic?”

“You were pretty roughed up when I got there. So that is a possibility.” Magica put her free hand on his other cheek to move his head down a little. Gladstone received a light kiss to the forehead.

“Lucky for me you showed up to save the day.” Gladstone raised his head, wearing a cheesy grin. 

Magica shook her head in the stereotypical “oh, you!” fashion. 

Still smiling, Gladstone gave her a long kiss back. Properly, beak to beak. Magica leaned into it, her hands moving from his face down to his shoulders. He put an arm around her back and gave a gentle squeeze.

There was a low growl. Magica pulled back from the embrace. For one split second she was almost concerned a wild animal had snuck into the room.

“Sorry. That was me. I guess I am hungry.” Gladstone gave a sheepish shrug. 

Magica let him go to bap him on the arm. “Finish that glass of water and clean up. Bathroom is the door on the left.” She gave him a peck on the cheek before standing up to leave. “I’ll bring the soup up to you once it's done. Don’t expect anything fancy.” 

Gladstone hummed a moment. “You must have been pretty worried about me if you’re volunteering to provide me free room service.”

“Well, don’t get used to it!” Magica replied as she walked out of the room.

Once she left, Gladstone flopped down, laying crossways on the bed. He thought, for just a second, what it would be like to have a home with Magica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I was gonna say Zoom call instead of Facetime but then realized this takes place slightly in the past. I looked up when IPhone came out which was 2007, which is still a tiny bit too much in the future for this but haha maybe Duckverse just have iphones sooner so screw logic. Haaaa. (Mind you time frame kinda mattered to me because I headcanon Gladstone’s mom was born 7.7.1957. Gladstone is 7.7.1977 and Gladstone and Magica’s kid should have been 7.7.2007 technically. (Except the kid landed on the 13th because SPOOKY OKAY.) 
> 
> Also the house mentioned here is a headcanon I have for a De Spell Estate that's past through the family. No one is currently living there but I like the concept of using it as a safe house when crazy stuff goes down. >_>


End file.
